The Willow Room at Black Oak

Through a series of unlikely events, I was privileged to do a guest spot at Black Oak Casino's Willow Creek room last Thursday. Mike Betancourt (readers here will have come to know him as "The Saint") was running the room this night for the otherwise-committed Del Van Dyke.

Mike's been a great friend to me, and has encouraged and instructed me when he can. This evening, he schooled me in the rhythms involved in a show, both on a macro and micro scale.

Taking that advice, I prepared to hit the stage, rather than it hitting me. I rehearsed my material for time, and found that what should have been a smooth five minutes came out rushed at under four and a half. Gotta watch that.

Soon Mike had finished his set and introduced me. I stepped into the light. I don't know what it looked like, but climbing onstage at such a spacious, plushly-appointed room made me feel like a teen with a tit: giddy, mildly intimidated and completely amazed at the bizarre luck that got me to that point. I hope that blinding element of anticipation meeting reality never dwindles, although I suspect it must.

Even at an easy idle I speak quickly, so I made a conscious effort to throttle back my motor mouth. I navigated the luge of my material, feeling like I'd been tossed into a downhill game of hopscotch, required to hit all the right markers without losing my balance. Surprisingly enough, I hit my setups and punches with the flavors I'd intended, and the crowd responded. Favorably, even!

I never saw the light as I performed my closer and acquiesced the stage, handing it over to the stunningly hilarious Chris Warren, who subsequently handed off to the theatrically and musically gifted Juan Canopii (sorry, I couldn't easily find a decent link).

Later, I would get invaluable feedback regarding timing and stage presence, along with a bushel of advice, all of which I valued highly. My guest spot at Black Oak was like a pedagogical bomb going off, with me trying to catch all the fragments of knowledge I can before they escape.

Still, my senses were all on high alert and I felt like a moon-eyed lemur as I looked and listened and tried to take it all in. In this mode my sense of humor is also heightened, as if some force is reminding me at a nearly-subconscious level to: "take it all in but don't forget to enjoy the ride." This is a highly enjoyable state to be in, but unfortunately the outward manifestation is that I laugh at inopportune times at the layered and hidden ironies that I formulated and processed for my own enjoyment, and I risked alienating those around me by the appearance of odd behavior.

Ah well, fuck it. These are the moments that the tree of life is made of, and I'm willing to look foolish if it means plucking its fruit.

"What have you learned?" I was asked as we enjoyed comped, bar & grill fare after the show (rarely have I enjoyed simple, fried fare as I did that night with company that might otherwise have been mistaken for mundane. On the contrary, I was fascinated). With my sensory satellite dishes still in "receive" mode, I had processed nothing and had nothing to offer but a lame attempt at some intelligible synthesis of the night's events and nuances. I'm sure I disappointed my interlocutor, but it takes me days to sort out anything useful from nights like these. Can't be helped.

I'll tell you this: it pays to occasionally take the path that promises to carry you out of your way. You never know where it will take you. I've always suspected that, but tonight was a solid confirmation.